


throw me down, shake me up

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1500719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel fucks up. He doesn't know how, but he fucks up and he needs to fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	throw me down, shake me up

The realisation hits him just as suddenly as the ground rushing up to meet him when Jehan throws him for the third time that afternoon: Bahorel is in love.

"Holy shit," he murmurs, both awed and a little sore. He sits up, rubbing his head. 

Jehan is standing above him, arms folded across their chest, eyebrow raised. Bahorel is pretty sure that this exact image is going to feature heavily in his fantasies from here on out. Wouldn't be the first time he's fantasised about Jehan, definitely won't be the last.

"You're going easy on me," Jehan accuses. 

"Perhaps you're just too good for me," Bahorel replies with a grin.

"That's bullshit and we both know it." Jehan frowns down at him. "I appreciate that you think I need to know self defence but I've already told you that I've taken martial arts lessons in the past. I can hold my own, so are you going to come at me or not?"

"Yeah," Bahorel says, getting to his feet. "Alright. Let's go again."

This time, when Bahorel ends up on the floor, Jehan is on top of him, holding themself up with their hands and knees. Their frown deepens and they get up.

"Come find me when you want to take things seriously, Bahorel."

"What? Jehan—" Bahorel scrambles to get up, confused and panicked, but Jehan is already walking away without a backwards glance. Bahorel sits there, his heart feeling heavy in his chest as he tries to figure out how exactly he's fucked up.

:·:

"Grantaire, I need your advice."

"Wow," Grantaire says, pulling an empty glass close and pouring some of the contents of his bottle into it. "Bleak times, huh?"

Bahorel sits down heavily in the chair opposite Grantaire. "Yeah, something like that. Have you seen Jehan?"

"Not since yesterday," Grantaire replies with a shrug. "Why, is something up?"

"I think so?" Bahorel hazards. "I don't know. I fucked up and I don't know _how_ and…"

"I know that feeling," Grantaire snorts. "The other week, I was—"

Whatever Grantaire was going to say is immediately forgotten when Enjolras walks by the window. Bahorel recognises him by the way Grantaire's jaw goes slack, rather than by sight.

"Did you just—" Grantaire blinks, turning to the window again as if he can still see Enjolras on the other side. "That was Enjolras."

"Yeah…?"

"With his hair in a bun. Enjolras' hair. In a bun."

"Can we—" Bahorel shakes his head. "Can we talk about your boyfriend's hair later? I'm having a crisis here." 

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. Sorry. What were you saying?"

There's a dreamy look in Grantaire's eyes that makes Bahorel snort quietly. He gets to his feet, patting Grantaire on the shoulder. "Never mind, man. It's not important."

:·:

Combeferre listens very patiently to Bahorel's plight, turning his coffee mug around and around in his hands until it's finally his turn to speak. "I don't quite understand why you're telling me all of this."

"I dunno, you're like. The designated adult of the group." Bahorel runs a hand through his hair. "You're kind of like the group dad."

Combeferre hums thoughtfully at that and takes a sip of his coffee. "Does that make Courfeyrac the group mum? I suppose he has mother hen tendencies. Or the group other-dad."

"What," Bahorel says because wow, okay. That's news.

"What," Combeferre replies, utterly deadpan.

" _What_. Is everyone dating the love of their life while I'm here trying to figure out where the hell I went wrong? Because wow. Rude."

"The love of your life?" Combeferre asks, raising an eyebrow.

Bahorel gets to his feet. "I have to—go do a thing. Elsewhere. Good talk, Combeferre, bye."

:·:

Bahorel finds Enjolras, whose hair is indeed tied up into a bun. "You gotta help me, man."

Enjolras gives him a concerned look. "What's the matter?"

"It's Jehan. I think I pissed them off and I don't know why or how to fix it."

"That's not good," Enjolras says with a frown. He's moving the books and papers around on his desk like he's looking for something, but Bahorel can still tell that he's paying attention. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"We were sparring, sort of," Bahorel says. "I told them that they could use some self-defence skills. They told me that they'd done some martial arts classes a while back. I… I guess I didn't take them all that seriously, and now they're pissed off at me. Help."

"Okay," Enjolras says slowly, looking up. "First of all, do you think Jehan is angry with you because of the sparring, directly? Or do you think it's something else? Something bigger than just self-defence and martial arts lessons?"

Bahorel's eyes narrow. "Do you know something that I don't?"

Enjolras shrugs. "I only know what I've observed and what I've been told."

"Did Jehan come and talk to you?"

"Not recently, no."

"But they _have_ talked to you about something. And whatever this is about, it's related to that something."

Enjolras shrugs again. "I'm not going to play middleman for you, Bahorel. There is nothing I have to tell you that you shouldn't be hearing from Jehan's mouth instead of mine. Find them and talk to them. If they need time before they'll talk, respect that. Communicate. When it comes down to it, that's all you can really do."

"Right." Bahorel nods. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." Enjolras smiles, then glances around his table again. "You don't happen to see my pencil around anywhere, do you?"

Bahorel's gaze flicks to Enjolras' hair, where the pencil is holding his bun together. As tempted as he is to say something about it and help Enjolras in return, he's pretty sure that Grantaire will never forgive him for it.

"Can't say I have. Sorry. I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

:·:

When he finally sees Jehan again, they're standing in his doorway, still frowning, but no longer looking as angry as they did earlier.

"I think we need to talk," Jehan says quietly and Bahorel nods, opening the door wider and stepping aside, to let Jehan walk in. 

"I'm upset with you."

"I know," Bahorel replies. "I just wish you'd tell me why. Is it because of the sparring? Because I wasn't challenging you enough?"

"A little," Jehan admits. "You weren't taking me seriously, Bahorel. You know how I feel when people do that to me."

"But I didn't want to hurt you."

"And see, that's our main problem." Jehan steps into Bahorel's space and they match each other for height inch for inch. Where Bahorel is muscle and intimidation, Jehan is thin, fragile-looking, even though Bahorel knows better. "It's not that you underestimate me because I _love_ being underestimated and we both know that. It's just that I'm tired of you being _gentle_ with me, Bahorel. I'm tired of you being careful, second-guessing yourself, second-guessing me. We both know what we want. I want us to stop tip-toeing around the matter." 

"And," Bahorel says, quietly clearing his throat. "What do you want?"

Jehan rolls their eyes, taking Bahorel's face into both hands and kissing him hard. 

"Oh," Bahorel says, dazed.

"Oh," Jehan echoes, then kisses him again. 

"You want this too?" Bahorel asks into the small space between their lips when they pull apart.

"Did you land on your head when I threw you before?" Jehan asks, raising an eyebrow and Bahorel laughs, pulling them close and kissing them again and again and again.


End file.
